Just Me
by Anatkh
Summary: During the summer of his fifth year, Ron shares a moment with Hermione and his thoughts


"Ron

"Ron!" shouted Hermione, storming into Ron's room in Grimmald place.

"What?" asked Ron, poking his head out from the covers of his bed. For the nearly five years he'd known her, she'd always been doing things like this.

"You've done it again!" she shrieked.

"Done what?" yawned Ron rubbing his eyes. Slowly he sat up and stretched, completely unfazed by Hermione's entrance into his room.

"You know what you've done!" shouted Hermione. "I can't believe you!"

Ron looked around the room. "What time is it?" he asked.

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Don't start avoiding the situation. You do it every time!" She hated how whenever she tried to talk to him about something, anything for that matter, he would change the subject or avoid talking about it.

"I'm not avoiding the situation, whatever the shit it is," muttered Ron.

Hermione glared at Ron. "Yes you are," she insisted. "And don't swear, you know you're not supposed to."

Rolling his eyes, Ron lay back down and pulled the covers over his head. "Thanks, mum," he laughed. "Now would you please go away, I'm kind of trying to sleep."

"Sleep!" laughed Hermione. "How could you be thinking about sleep in a time like this!" She walked over the window, pulled open the curtains. "Look there, Ron!" she shouted pointing out the window which bright midmorning sunlight streamed from. "It's eleven!"

"Aha!" he exclaimed, sitting up in bed, his face in a conquering expression, his finger pointing upward. "I knew that you'd tell me the time."

Groaning, Hermione put her face in her hands, realising that she had just fallen into Ron's trap. "Fine... you win, Ronald."

He looked at Hermione. Was it the sunlight streaming behind her, or did she really look angelic. Could it be the way that she did her hair that particular morning, the way that her hair fell over her shoulders, yet it still looked the same. He couldn't explain what happened, but he felt his stomach do a back-flip as she lowered her hand, and gazed at him with her doe-brown eyes.

"What are you staring at me for!" shouted Hermione.

"Um..." Ron searched for an answer, then shrugged his shoulders, unable to find one. "Dunno... just you're the only interesting thing in the room..."

Putting her hands on her hips, she raised an eyebrow. "So you're staring at me because you have nothing better to do?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Ron realised a second too late his mistake.

"Ron!" shouted Hermione. "I can't believe you! Let me guess, you also think that when you're bored I'll make out with you, just because you have nothing better to do!"

Hurt, he looked away. "You don't get it, Hermione," murmured Ron. "I-"

"I don't want to hear it," snapped Hermione. Striding to the door, she added, "I never thought you'd be the sort."

Ron flinched when Hermione slammed the door, and stormed to her room a few bedrooms down.

Sighing, Ron lay back in the bed at Grimmald Place, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn't believe just how thick he was, just how much it pained him to have her yell at him like that.

Normally, he could take her abuse. She was always yelling at him about one thing or another. It was just how their realtionship was... a sort of love hate friendship. They were always at eachothers throats. They would always be one step away from not talking to eachother.

It wasn't the fact that it was Hermione, his best mate, yelling at him. It was because it was Hermione, the Hermione, yelling at him.

Rolling over on his side, so he faced the empty bed, he pondered exactly what it meant.

He pondered why did sometimes durning classes towards the end of their fourth year did he look at Hermione and feel, not that happiness that he had made friends that he felt in his first year, but a happiness that it was iher/i and not someother girl.

Why was it that when they were researching spells to help Harry in the Triwizard Torniment he could never get anything done if she was there?

The thoughts began the rocks that slowly became an avalanche. Then came the overarching question.

Did he perhaps like Hermione?

No, that was a stupid question, of course he liked Hermione. She was his friend.

A better question would have been, was it possible that he loved Hermione?

The moment that he realised the answer did his stomach sank and his ears turned red. Hermione hated him now, surely. She would be mad at him and wouldn't talk to him. Grimmald place would be awfully quiet without her talking to him.

And she was one of his best mates.

This was hopeless, he was hopeless and helpless.

"I can't wait 'til you come here, Harry," Ron murmured to the room. Lupin never gave an exact date as to when Harry would be coming, but Ron hoped it would be soon, then he could tell Harry-

No, he couldn't tell Harry. Harry wouldn't understand.

"I guess it's just me..." sighed Ron


End file.
